


Let's Be Honest

by MermaidMarie



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-13 16:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21497380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMarie/pseuds/MermaidMarie
Summary: Prompt on Tumblr: “It’s three a.m. Why are you making soup?”In which Eliot and Margo have a late night conversation.
Relationships: Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	Let's Be Honest

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt sent in anonymously. Thank you, and I'm sorry.

“It’s three a. m. Why are you making soup?”

Eliot paused. “I truly don’t have a good answer to that.”

Margo walked into the kitchen, flicking the light on. “And why were you making soup in the _dark?” _

He glanced at her, a slight smile on his face. “I don’t have a good answer to that either.”

“El—”

“Look, you don’t have to say it.” Eliot angled himself towards the pot, focusing intently on stirring the wooden spoon. “I know.”

“Oh, well shit, as long as you _know.” _

Margo’s tone was sardonic, but Eliot knew her well enough to hear the note of concern lurking underneath. She wasn’t wrong to worry, which was, truly, the very worst part. Eliot wished he could claim to be fine. He wished he could claim to not need anyone’s concern.

The fact of the matter was that he didn’t have much of a defense for himself.

He wasn’t even sure how he was standing. Every moment he wasn’t in pieces was a small miracle.

“Would you like some?” Eliot offered, as though this was all normal.

“I mean, _yeah, _duh,” Margo replied, settling down on a stool at the counter. “I’ve missed your cooking.”

Eliot’s throat tightened at that. For him, it hadn’t felt like all that long. The time he spent in the Happy Place was so… unreal. It was dreamlike. There was no end or beginning to any of it. Time wasn’t a factor. He was just sort of floating in the space of memory without much awareness.

Even after he knew it wasn’t real, he couldn’t _feel _time.

Meanwhile, time was passing normally out here in the real world. He’d been gone for the better part of a year, so they said. He’d missed Valentine’s day. He’d missed his birthday. He’d missed Margo’s birthday.

He’d missed Quentin’s birthday, too.

“Sorry,” Margo’s voice cut in suddenly. “Didn’t mean to wreck the cheery mood.”

Eliot noticed how his hand had stilled. He cleared his throat, getting back to stirring, a little too briskly. He had to drop the spoon and flex his hand before he could get back to a gentle pace.

The _cheery mood. _What a concept. “Oh, no, of course. Must maintain the cheery mood. Whatever would we do without it?”

Margo let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Best to keep up appearances.” She sighed. “How are you? You’re not really supposed to be up.”

The sincerity in her tone was nearly startling. Eliot and Margo had never been the type of friends who asked each other how they were. The undercurrent was always there: they were fucked up, they’d always be fucked up, at the very least they could be a _fun _kind of fucked up, _who wants a martini?_

They’d never talked much about how they were doing. They were there for each other, sure, but honesty was never either of their strong suits. Eliot always thought that was why Quentin worked so well with them—his earnestness kept them grounded in what mattered. He kept them from floating away into the falsity of their personas.

Eliot guessed if there was ever a time for his and Margo’s dynamic to shift, now would be it.

There had been, after all, quite a lot of things going on. And they didn’t have anything left to ground them.

He was not exactly eager to discuss any of it, though. How was he doing? Oh, just _peachy. _

“Well, I don’t know who’s been doing the grocery shopping around here, but I’ll be honest, I had to get _quite _creative with my recipe. Honestly, what were you people eating? I thought Josh cooked.”

“Josh bakes, mostly,” she replied. “And nice try, Waugh, but I’m not letting you off the hook that easy. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Well, I’m wonderful, my dear friend. Aren’t you?”

“You’re very convincing.”

“Hm. Thanks.” Eliot glanced over his shoulder to shoot her a bright, facetious smile.

“C’mon, El. Everything is fucked. It’d be weird if you _were _fine.”

She really did sound like she wanted to help.

“So what if I’m not fine? Not like there’s anything we can do about it.” His voice got more bitter with each word. He was quick to anger these days—something about whatever had happened to him while he was possessed, maybe. Or maybe it was the stage of grief he was lingering in. Either way, he always felt like he was one step away from snapping.

“I’m not fine either. Who says we need to fucking do anything about it?” Margo sighed heavily. “We could just, y’know… Be not fine together.”

Right. Of course. Like they used to, right? Just gloss over how fucked up they were, gloss over whatever trauma or pain or grief they were in the midst of, cover it up with affectations and margaritas. It was what they did, right? It was who they were.

“I don’t think we know how to do that anymore,” Eliot said quietly.

The soup was still simmering. He didn’t really want to eat it. Making soup just felt like something you did when everything was awful. As though it was as simple as having a cold.

“Eliot—”

“I love you, Margo, but honestly—” His voice was starting to shake and he hated himself for it. “Who are we kidding?”

Margo let out a quiet scoff. “Sure, yeah, making soup at three in the morning is _much _healthier way to cope.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I miss the part where we got good a _healthy coping?” _Eliot turned a little and offered a smile, as sincerely as he could manage. “Why don’t we have a drink to celebrate? Or, you know, _several _drinks to celebrate. Who’s counting?”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Margo replied. She leaned forward against the counter, tapping her fingers lightly.

“I appreciate what you’re doing here, Bambi, but there’s really nothing that can make any of this better.”

“What, you think this is _all _just for you?” Margo retorted. “Yeah, maybe I think you need some help. A lot of fucking help, if we’re being honest. But you know what, so do I. I need you, too, Eliot.”

Eliot wanted to scream. How could anyone need _him _right now? What good could he be to anyone? He was barely holding on, how could he _possibly _help anyone else? He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t _be _anyone. Whatever version of himself anyone needed him to be, he couldn’t do it.

He turned off the flame, moving the pot to an unused burner. From behind him, he heard Margo’s chair scrape back. He watched her reach for the bowls out of the corner of his eye. Neither of them reacted fast enough to catch the one that crashed to the ground, breaking into pieces.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking _kidding _me,” Margo snapped at the broken bowl, gesturing at it emphatically. She let out a half hysterical laughter, rubbing a hand down her face. “You’ve _got _to be kidding me.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Eliot murmured. He didn’t meet her gaze as he reached down, delicately gathering the pieces together.

“No, it’s just—it’s—” Margo huffed. “Fucking hell, Eliot. We can’t—”

“Relax, Bambi,” Eliot said coolly. He avoided looking at her. He swallowed hard, straightening back up and ignoring the pain in his abdomen. He put the pieces down gently.

“El—”

He cleared his throat loudly, reaching for the drawer that seemed to be where people shoved things in at random. He was still getting the hang of where everything was in Kady’s apartment. “There’s got to be some superglue in here somewhere.”

Margo fell silent. The only noise in the room was Eliot rummaging through the drawer. It was—well. It was _loud. _

Eliot’s hands started shaking.

“Where’s the fucking superglue?” he bit out through gritted teeth.

“Eliot,” Margo said, her voice softer.

“God, fuck, do Magicians just not _bother _buying the basics? Are we all that dependent on magic? So _fucking _useless. Christ.”

“El—”

“I mean, _honestly—” _

“I can do it, it’s okay,” Margo said, putting a hand on Eliot’s arm.

Eliot flinched away. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped. “Fine. Whatever.”

He grabbed two more bowls down from the cupboard, carefully. He didn’t look as she performed the minor mending spell.

He heard Margo let out a shaky breath as she put the newly fixed bowl away.

She was right, and he knew she was right. Neither of them was fine. And really, the only thing they could do was be not fine together.

Eliot braced himself on the counter with both hands, hanging his head.

“Can I be honest?” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Margo replied.

He gestured theatrically at the pot, sighing with several layers of affectations attached. “I’m not even hungry.”

There was a beat of silence before Margo started laughing.

“Screw you, Eliot,” she said though her giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. “God, we really are fucked, aren’t we?”

Eliot sighed, offering her a shrug and a smile. “Let’s be honest. We weren’t built for this.”

Margo managed to pull herself together, shaking her head. He watched her squeeze her eyes closed and take an unsteady breath. “Quentin would know how to handle it.”

Eliot’s smile got a little more genuine. He cast his eyes downward, staring at the kitchen tiles through the blur of his tears. He remembered how Quentin had fallen apart after Arielle had left—how he’d torn her favorite shawl when it became clear she wasn’t coming back, how he’d cried into Eliot’s shoulder for hours, how he would shift erratically between moody and inconsolable.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Eliot said softly.


End file.
